Ménage à Trois
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Sherlock has a request for his birthday involving John AND Lestrade.   Threesome smuttery-that's all, no redeeming value at all.  And I'm a bad collaborator.  Most of the smuttery comes from your icequeen at LJ.


Greg.

John had to remember to think of him as Greg.

Because it was rather stupid to call a man by his surname when you are currently lying on one half of his bed while he fucks your lover. To heaven and back by the sounds of things.

Lestrade's— _Greg's_ penis was thick. Thicker than John's. Not a lot, mind you, but enough. To be noticed. You know. In side by side comparison.

Sherlock seemed to be half out of his mind as he writhed around. On it. Greg's cock. "Oh, God, yes, there Greg, right there, right there. Fuuuuuucccckkkk."

_**One month earlier**_

As if it wasn't bad enough that Christmas was coming, Sherlock's birthday followed right on its heels and John was doubly stumped. Or so he told Lestrade over a pint at the local, a habit that they had fallen into.

"Well, there's a nice little French place he and I used to go to. But it's rather near my flat so not very convenient for you. But he always loved it and was very appreciative, if you know what I mean."

John's face must have shown it all, because Lestrade slapped his forehead with his palm. "Ah, Jesus. You didn't know. He didn't tell you. Should've known.

"It was nothing, John. Less than nothing. Nothing at all like you two have. Barely two months long. More gratitude on both sides than anything else."

"Oh," John managed in a small voice. "You can tell me. I know he won't."

"Really nothing, John."

"Please."

"Alright, but…never mind.

"You know how when I met him he was floundering, right? Drugs, apathy, general waste of his talents."

John nodded. That bit, at least, he did know.

"Well, I finally let him in on a case that had stumped the Yard for two weeks and damn, if he didn't solve it in three hours. So, short story, that night he's in my office and basically offering himself to me in gratitude for giving him something to do. Don't look at me like that. I sent him home. Told him he should never think his body was some sort of thank you card to be handed around. And that if anyone ever told him that it was, or expected it, he should come find me immediately and I'd set the fellow right.

"We go on. Cases get bigger. I need him—professionally—more and more and sod gets more and more arrogant. And more attractive—cleaned up, clean, weighing a whole stone, instead of just half.

"So when he offered again, more as a celebration as equals… I'm not immune to the man's charms.

"That said, I'm also not a complete push-over when it comes to his personality. It sort of died out mutually and I wasn't that sorry. Not sleeping with him makes the work relationship easier. Less to lose if it all goes belly-up. For what it's worth, I am sorry you found out this way. I'd have never…if I thought…"

"Forget about it. I shouldn't be so surprised. Things you and I might think important just fly right past his head, not his problem."

And that should have been that—although John didn't book a table at the little French restaurant.

Should have been that—except for the big case that had them running all over during Christmas Day (solved the problem of a present). At the end of which, a euphoric Sherlock threw his arms around John's and Lestrade's shoulders at the Yard (mercifully not within ear shot of anyone else) and announced, as someone else might declare that they'd like to buy everyone a round, that what he'd really like for his birthday was…

…to have them both. At once. Together.

John and Lestrade exchanged glances while Sherlock went on about something else, oblivious to the fact that John and Lestrade might have some issues with the idea.

And somehow neither of them managed to fully articulate those issues.

So, here they were. The three of them.

There had been a surreal discussion about logistics wherein Sherlock was completely oblivious to the discomfort of the other two. The idea that they might not be interested in a threesome, let alone that John's newfound jealousy at the thought of Sherlock and Lestrade together—because, let's face it, Lestrade had a lot to offer that John didn't, access to crime scenes for instance and Lestrade was certainly attractive, sexy even, and taller—could cause a problem never crossed Sherlock's mind.

They decided not to 'celebrate' at Baker Street, which John appreciated. He was just getting comfortable with the whole idea and the idea being with Lestrade, but he was still possessive enough not to want to share his and Sherlock's bed. The arrangement worked out better anyway since the DI had a king size bed, while each of theirs was a double.

On the big day, John showered three times and shaved twice. He wasn't sure why. It's not like he hadn't kissed Sherlock with stubble on both of their chins or jumped into bed sweaty from a chase or a trip to the gym. He felt like he was going to a new friend's house and he wanted to make a good impression. Which was ridiculous. Hello, what a nice flat you have. I brought a bottle of wine. Now, do you want Sherlock on his back or kneeling?

He and Sherlock arrived a little after nine. They had shared a very nice (and private, thank you very much) dinner which even Sherlock had realized might be better without Lestrade. John had drunk more wine than usual for liquid courage.

It was clear that Lestrade had felt the same way as John. He was freshly showered, hair still damp, and seemed to have made an effort to tidy. Although some file boxes were shoved haphazardly into a corner.

Lestrade held open the door and they walked through. Sherlock was quick to discard his coat onto the back of the leather armchair as though he owned the place. John tried not to find that annoying, after all, Sherlock tended to stride into most places as if owned them. He followed suit with his own.

He turned around to find the two other men locked in an embrace, lips making obscene sounds as their tongues played with each other in easy familiarity. Sherlock reached his hand out for John, never removing his mouth from Lestrade's.

John walked over to them and Sherlock, almost as a master of ceremonies, turned the detective's attention towards the smaller man.

Lestarde was a good kisser, John noted but it was something he stopped thinking about when a thick hand found its way to the button on John's jeans. Sherlock had moved behind his former lover now, and was swiftly unbuttoning the other man's shirt.

They continued kissing as Sherlock undressed all of them.

Turning his head between them, he alternated hungry kisses on their eager mouths. "Bedroom," he managed to mumble breathlessly.

Once there, Sherlock and Lestrade collapsed on the bed. Sherlock moved down and took the DI's thick cock into his mouth. It was sexier then John thought it would be, watching his lover please another man. He knew how talented that tongue was as it worked up and down the shaft, could almost feel Sherlock's mouth on his own. He wanted to be inside Sherlock immediately. He had to.

The lube had been thoughtfully laid out on the table beside the bed with a few condoms. John pushed Sherlock's knees up under him, careful not to disturb the scene, and was rewarded with a satisfied oomph of pleasure as Sherlock understood.

He slicked up his fingers and worked one and then a second into Sherlock. Bending and scissoring his fingers, he heard the moan that always told him it was time.

John moved onto his own knees, rolled on a condom, lubed it up and gently pushed in. He paused to allow for Sherlock to relax, then reached forward and pulled Sherlock into his lap as he sat back on his heels. There was an audible pop when Sherlock was removed from Lestrade's cock, followed by a baritone moan as they settled into this position.

Lestrade took this as a cue to return the favor and leaned forward to lick the tip of Sherlock's penis and then swallow him. Long pale fingers wrapped themselves into slightly greying hair as Sherlock moved his hand to the back of the DI's head.

John rocked into him from below rubbing Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock's other hand grabbed onto John's thigh and squeezed. John knew there would be bruises there in the morning but didn't care, not when Sherlock's hips were grinding back into his and juddering forward. Sherlock threw his head back onto John's shoulder as he came, gasping, into the detective's mouth. With the sensations and the incredible noises issuing from Sherlock's throat, John followed soon after.

Sherlock collapsed between them and then rolled off John to lie on the bed in an inelegant sprawl.

"John, can you help Greg out for a minute?" Sherlock practically slurred out, flapping his hand weakly.

"Of course I can." Even he couldn't deny the hunger that was in his voice.

John pushed Greg—Greg, not Lestrade—onto his back and handed him one of the other condoms from the table. Hand still slick from preparing Sherlock, John worked a couple of fingers into himself before lowering onto the waiting cock in front of him. Yes, Greg was definitely bigger than John and thicker than Sherlock's long prick.

John did not bottom much when it was just him and Sherlock, but since his days in the army he was no novice at the position. He lifted himself and then pushed back onto the detective a few times, finding his rhythm before changing his position so that he would hit his spot.

He knew that he would not come again soon, but he wasn't surprised when he looked down to find himself half hard.

Greg grabbed him and pulled him down into a kiss as he came with a guttural moan. John rode him out through the orgasm and then collapsed on the other side of Sherlock.

The two older men coiled around Sherlock, almost protectively, where he lay on his stomach. Greg rested his hand on Sherlock's hip and John could picture them together but it didn't sting, especially when Sherlock reached out his hand to grip John's hand and kiss his palm, half-slitted eyes radiating contentment and affection. "I love you," he mouthed, and John smiled. They dozed, sweat cooling on their bodies.

They lay like that for awhile, enjoying each other's company. Occasionally they would kiss or run their hands along the other's bodies. Finally, Sherlock broke the silence.

"Round two," he said with a chuckle and reached down to stroke Greg.

When the other man was hard again, Sherlock used his mouth and pushed another condom onto the detective. Even while showing attention to Greg's cock and fondling his balls, Sherlock locked eyes with John as he straddled the other man.

John watched this, teasing himself with touches, enjoying the show, as Sherlock worked himself into a frenzy, Greg's hands gripping his narrow hips to hang on.

"Oh, God, yes, there Greg, right there, right there. Fuuuuuucccckkkk."

"John," Greg said, motioning for him to get behind Sherlock.

"Oh, please, God, yes," Sherlock begged understanding what was being insinuated.

It was all John needed to hear. Sherlock had not needed any more lube when he had mounted Greg but John put some on himself anyway to make what he was about to do a little easier.

He lined himself up so that when Sherlock thrust his hips back once again he pushed himself onto the head of John's cock as well.

He stilled. John waited a few seconds and then pushed in a little further. After what to John felt like an agonizing few minutes, he was all the way into his lover.

Sherlock had managed to take both of them in with only a few whimpers, all of them in want, not pain. "So full," he gasped, "so good."

When he was ready, they both allowed Sherlock to set the pace. John and Greg stayed still while Sherlock impaled himself on both of them over and over again. His sounds were nearly animalistic in their intensity. He wasn't even trying to articulate words now. The sensation of Sherlock's hard muscle above and the slight give of Greg's cock below was like nothing John had ever experienced.

The sight of both of them sliding into Sherlock almost made John come immediately. He quickly thought of anything he could to make this last longer. Mrs. Hudson naked, the time Mycroft had walked in on them, the heads in the fridge back at Baker Street, Harry drinking. While they helped, none of these things could stop the inevitable.

"God, Sherlock, you're so tight like this." John managed to choke out.

Sherlock just growled in response and came on Greg's chest without even touching himself. He contracted as the waves rolled through him causing both men to come at the same time. It seemed he wasn't the only one fighting off his release, John thought.

They untangled themselves from each other. Sherlock and John practically fell to the bed.

"Happy birthday, my love," John whispered, planting a kiss on the other man's lips.

"Yes. Happy birthday, Sherlock," Greg added hoarsely.

"Same time next year?" said Sherlock and both men could hear the arrogant smirk in his voice.


End file.
